‘I’ll leave you alone now. Perhaps something else will come to you.’
Jack escorted her to the door. As he thanked her once again, her eyes scorched him and he was relieved when she slipped out of the room shyly and left him alone, free of the temptations that whispered in his ear.
Chapter Twelve
Blanche met Jack in the courtyard the next morning. She held the reins of two horses and smiled when she saw him. Jack only had two changes of clothes, but he was dressed in his fresh tunic. The deep blue wool jerkin suited his complexion and brought out the blue in his eyes as they wrinkled at the corner when he saw the horses.
‘I hope you can ride,’ Blanche said anxiously. ‘I don’t think it is the sort of thing you might have forgotten.’
‘I would hope not,’ Jack agreed. ‘Riding seems the sort of thing a body should remember by instinct.’
He stretched his arms and rolled his shoulders back. Blanche forced her mind from speculating what other physical things his body would instinctively remember how to do. There were six men since Mael and Yann who Blanche had lain with when she had needed money or aid of some sort. Some had been pleasurable, others tolerable, one still had the ability to make her skin crawl. She’d gone into each arrangement willingly, but if asked she would say that she was done with lovemaking and rutting. The bedroom held no interest for her beyond helping her achieve her aims.
So how could contemplating one man’s ability reduce her to a quivering wreck of a girl?
She held out the reins of the piebald mare. The mare was twelve and docile, and even if Jack proved to be a complete novice the mare was unlikely to unseat him. She kept the black four-year-old gelding for herself.
‘I did hope it would be the other way around.’ Jack grinned as he took the reins. He raised one eyebrow suggestively. ‘You favour a young stallion when you ride?’
Blanche held his gaze, enjoying the double meaning. ‘Young, yes, but he’s gelded. Perhaps you can ride him once you have proven your ability. I wouldn’t want you to get another injury.’
Jack put his fingers to his head. He’d removed the bandage. The scab over the wound was large, but had begun to show signs of healing. He would always have a scar, but his features were so even it would not mar him. He would always be a remarkably handsome man. He laughed, a warm sound that made Blanche want to do likewise.
‘Very well, I shall be happy with my gentle mare,’ Jack said. ‘Shall we go?’
He held out his linked hands for her to mount. Surprised at the unexpected chivalry, she thanked him and put her foot in his hands. She allowed him to help her into the saddle even though she was more than capable of mounting independently. She settled in the saddle and rearranged her skirts, longing for the freedom of male clothing. She, too, had dressed well for the day in a plain, light wool skirt that she wouldn’t mind getting dirty in the market, but with a tightly buttoned sleeveless cote over the top that drew in her waist and gave her a slender silhouette. She smiled to herself. She had dressed for Jack, finding it enjoyable that there might be someone who it was worth dressing for.
They trotted through the gate and towards Benestin. There was a direct route, but the weather was warm and the sea was sparkling so she took the path along the edge of the coast so Jack could see the view.
They passed through Plomarc’h, the fishing village that neighboured Fort Carouel. Fishing nets and crab pots were littered around the jetty. A handful of children raced after a dog, squealing in excitement, while the smell of warm bread wafted from the bakery and mingled with the pervading odour of fish. Jack slowed his mare as they crossed the open space at the top of the slanting slipway. He looked at the low houses huddled together around the edge, then up the winding path that led to the church. His expression darkened.
‘What are you doing?’ Blanche asked.
‘I’m wondering how many people here bear the responsibility for what happened to the ship I was on.’
Blanche frowned. ‘Some, certainly.’
She waved her arm round the square. ‘Look around you, Jack. This is not a wealthy part of the country. The people struggle to put food on the table at the best of times and the conflict has taken menfolk and left poverty in their place. They do what they can to survive. It isn’t honourable or right, but it can be excused, surely?’
‘It is easy for you to say that when you have not suffered the consequences,’ he muttered. ‘Do the authorities know?’
Blanche urged her horse on, anxious to be away and out of the village. ‘Monsieur de Larrion doesn’t. He’s the Prévôt of Benestin.’
Jack wrinkled his nose. ‘What is that?’
‘The—how would you say it in English? The justice? The Man of the Town?’
‘The mayor?’ Jack supplied. ‘The magistrate?’
‘Yes, that will do,’ Blanche agreed. ‘He would not countenance illegal behaviour like that.’ She looked at him earnestly. ‘I have told the men in my village and farm they are forbidden from taking part in any more wrecking and if I discover they played a part I will inform the Prévot.’
‘Will they listen to you?’ Jack asked, sounding doubtful. Blanche tried to ignore the implied insult. She was strong, but only a woman after all, and Jack didn’t know of the authority she exercised.
‘I believe they will.’ She sighed. ‘It will not stop it happening. There are more pressing matters for the authorities. The factions involved in the succession and the war with England concern them more than what a handful of villagers do. If they sink a French ship, that helps. If it is a merchant, that is unfortunate, but surely it is better to use what is salvaged rather than let it sink and spoil.’
‘What about piracy?’ Jack asked. ‘What about Ronec? He hardly seems in need of salvage to survive.’
Blanche sucked her teeth. Jack sounded as if he loathed Ronec even more than he despised the Sea Wolf. He had come to her aid by intervening and when he had learned of how she had retrieved the box he had been furious and protective. It was oddly comforting to have someone caring for her like that. Someone capable of the heady mix of strength and tenderness that melted her heart. She would miss him. Her mind flashed to the cross in her room. How lucky Ronec had taken the box and not that, as he would never have returned it. She felt a flash of guilt at keeping it from Jack. When he left she would give it to him. When it no longer mattered if he was angry she had withheld it.
‘Some men fight for glory and riches. Ronec is one of those. He believes de Montfort is the rightful heir, as I do, but he sees the disruption as the chance of furthering his own cause. He is a landowner and he makes sure any profits are generously shared with those who matter.’ Blanche curled her fists. ‘He doesn’t care if those who don’t matter have nothing. If it wasn’t for...for the Sea Wolf, half the villages hereabouts would have starved.’
‘He shares his plunder?’ Jack sneered. ‘How noble.’
Blanche looked at him coldly. ‘Bleiz Mor doesn’t sail to get rich, but for revenge.’
Jack folded his arms and stared back with a challenge.
‘Really. You believe he has such pure motives.’
‘I know he does!’ Blanche rounded on him. ‘He only attacks ships belonging to the House of Blois and their supporters.’ Her cheeks felt flushed and the wind caught her hair, causing it to lift and blow around her face.
Jack looked sceptical. ‘Really? A man such as he would put his own life at risk with no self-interest?’
‘I didn’t say there was no self-interest,’ Blanche corrected. She tightened her fist on the reins. ‘Revenge is a stronger motivator than wealth.’
‘But hardly an honourable one,’ Jack said.
‘It is if the wrong done in the first place was great enough.’
Jack scratched his chin. ‘You sound as if you know his feelings well.’
‘If you knew him and his past y
ou would not doubt his intentions either,’ Blanche retorted.
‘And does Monsieur de Larrion know of his activities?’ Jack asked.
Blanche rearranged the folds of her cloak.
‘I believe he turns his face away from the sea so he does not have to see what he doesn’t want to. You call the Sea Wolf a pirate. Charles de Blois would say the same. To the House of Montfort and the English, he would be an ally. Someone who works tirelessly to further their cause.’
She pointed a finger at Jack, looking at him levelly. ‘You would count him as an ally, I’m sure.’
Jack scowled. ‘I would never count someone who treated me with such disdain as an ally.’
‘Perhaps not.’ Blanche gathered her reins. The day was turning out badly. ‘Enough now. We’ll be at Benestin soon enough and this sort of talk is not for a public place. Today should be a day for jollity, not anger and judgement.’
She snapped her reins with a sharp cry and rode away. It was doubtful that there would be much jollity if her mood continued to be so black. Rather than ride directly to Benestin, she diverted her path and rode to the Maiden Stones. She dismounted and secured the bridle, then waited for Jack to catch up.
‘This isn’t Benestin,’ he said as he dismounted and left the mare by Blanche’s horse.
‘No. I come here when I want some solitude. It calms me.’
Jack took a few steps closer to the edge of the cliff and stood gazing out to sea. Blanche let him go. Once she would have feared for his life, but now she had no worries that he might hurl himself off. That seemed to have left him as he discovered more about himself.
‘I can see why you like it,’ he said. ‘It’s beautiful. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such dramatic changes in one place.’
Blanche followed his hand as it swept across the rocks and back over the land. The spring flowers were starting to show. Small buds of yellow and purple were easing their careful way among the gorse and grasses. Soon there would be a riot of colour and the contrast with the deadly black rocks would be even more apparent.
‘I wish you could see it in summer.’ She sighed. ‘The sea turns azure blue and the green stretches for miles behind us.’
She walked back to the circle of stones where she had left her cloak and sat on it. After a moment staring out to sea, Jack followed her. He didn’t sit, but walked slowly around the stones, running his hand over the coarse granite and looking curiously at the grooves and indentations. Blanche watched as he ran his hand over the surface as slowly and carefully as if he were caressing the limbs of a lover. She shivered with desire. His hands were broad, fingers spread wide as they stroked the surface. Blanche imagined them moving with equal slowness across her limbs and grew giddy with longing.
‘When I saw the stones for the first time, I knew I wanted to be close to them.’
‘Who put them here?’
‘Nobody knows. They were old before my grand-mère’s time.’ Blanche stood up and walked between the two lines at the end of the circle and stopped at the stubby, slightly lopsided rock that had always been her favourite as a child. She ran her fingertips of both hands up the length of it, tracing the lines etched by centuries of wind and rain, and looked back at Jack.
‘There is a legend that these are women cursed and punished for meeting lovers here rather than attending church. They were transformed to stone for eternity in punishment. Only the women, naturally, not the lovers.’
‘Naturally,’ Jack said drily.
‘Do you think the men took new lovers?’ Blanche asked. ‘Women who were a little more careful when and where they granted their favours.’
‘Some, certainly. Some of them might have grieved so deeply they forswore any other lovers.’ Jack’s voice was heavy.
‘Then that would have been a great shame,’ Blanche said. ‘We weren’t created to be alone, but to live and love.’
‘What happened to your second husband?’ Jack asked. ‘I asked before, but you didn’t tell me.’
Blanche stared past him, out towards the sea, and her chin came up. It was more than curiosity or making conversation that made him ask.
‘There was a siege in the city of Quimper. The loyal forces of the rightful Duke of Brittany held the city but could not withstand the assault.’ She shuddered and felt sick. ‘Yann sent me away, but remained. He could have declared allegiance to Charles and been spared, but he refused.’
‘If this is too painful—’ Jack began saying, but she waved her hand imperiously to cut him off.
‘It was painful. It has been, but it is in the past. Refusing to talk about it won’t bring him back. Yann refused to submit. He was taken to Paris along with other Bretons and executed as a traitor to France.’
She closed her eyes.
‘I’m sorry,’ Jack whispered.
Her lips curved into a faint smile of acknowledgement. ‘You don’t need to be. As far as I know, you were not involved in the matter.’
‘I mean I’m sorry for your distress,’ Jack said, resting his hand on hers. ‘It must have been horrible to hear what happened. I’m glad you did not have to witness it.’
She lifted her head. ‘Jack, you don’t know me if you think that. I am—was—a loyal wife to Yann. How could I not be there? I rode to Paris and pleaded for his life, but it was in vain. When the time came for his death, I stood beside the block so that the last face he saw before he died would be mine. Then when the night was quiet I stole his head from the spike on the city wall. I fled from Paris and carried it away.’
‘So Yann’s land and property were forfeit and that is why you must live in the fort?’
‘Yes. I was left with barely anything beyond what I had brought to the marriage and a few valuables we managed to hide thanks to Andrey. It is fortunate Mael’s brother was generous.’ She turned away. ‘I even had to sell my horse to afford to make my way back to Brittany.’
‘You sold your horse? And bought the fort?’
She shook her head, but smiled. ‘Sadly, my horse was not that valuable.’
‘You are magnificent,’ Jack murmured.
She gave a bitter laugh. ‘You would not think me so magnificent if you knew what I did next.’
She had spoken mainly to herself, but loud enough that Jack would hear. Sure enough, he looked at her curiously.
‘Please tell me,’ he said.
Blanche closed her eyes. She had meant him to hear. Part of her wanted to unburden herself of the secret that she had told no one, not even Andrey. Of the people who she lived close to, only Ronec knew and that was because he had been a part of it. Whatever feelings had grown within her for Jack could not be acknowledged truly until he knew the worst of her, even if it meant he turned from her in disgust.
‘Another time,’ she said. ‘Before you leave.’ It wouldn’t matter then what he thought of her.
‘I’ve been thinking about when that will be.’ He looked into her eyes. ‘I would like to stay a while longer.’
She tried to hide her smile. ‘Of course you are welcome. Why?’
‘I don’t like the idea of leaving you.’
She blinked in surprise. ‘Why not?’
‘The way you had to obtain the box. The fact you live surrounded by wreckers and in the presence of danger. When you speak of solitude coming here, it tears my heart. I worry for you.’
She should tell him the truth and let him leave in confidence that she was safe.
‘There’s no need. I have advisors. Men I can trust.’
‘Men you can confide in?’
‘Confide what?’ She looked away.
‘How lonely you are. Don’t deny it. I recognise it in you because I see it in myself.’
Blanche walked back to the cliff edge and looked down at the rocks. The sea in all its fury couldn’t rage as fiercely as her heart was now. Jack followed
.
‘I watch you surrounded by your servants and people like Andrey and Ronec, but you’re alone. Whatever hold the Sea Wolf has over you can be broken. I can help you if you let me?’
She faced him.
‘Why would you do that?’
He looked away then met her eyes, his expression intense.
‘Because I believe I am starting to care for you.’
Her head spun.
‘How can you, when you don’t know who you are?’
‘I don’t need to know my past to know how I feel when I’m with you.’
He reached a hand to her cheek and she let him slide his fingers into her hair, ready to be seduced. The memory of the kiss they’d shared sparked flames in her. She craved another.
‘Perhaps if you knew my past you would feel differently.’
‘If you think I’d reject you because you’ve been married, I don’t care. I don’t insist my partners are young innocents.’
She hoped it was true. Maybe he had in his previous life, but she let her eyes fall down and realised the way his body was behaving now didn’t suggest that he was only attracted to innocence and youth. Her cheeks coloured.
‘I am neither young nor innocent, Jack. I’m older than you.’
‘Maybe you aren’t.’ He lifted his brow. ‘I can’t say what my age is. I could be a remarkably well-preserved man of forty.’
‘Is that a joke?’ Her lips quirked into a grin, feeling lighter in the heart than she had done for an age. Almost dizzy with elation and lust.
‘I think it is.’ He grinned back. ‘You’re older by a few years at most. That means nothing.’
‘And what of you, Jack?’ Blanche asked. ‘You are not a virgin, I assume?’
‘I assume not,’ he agreed.
She wondered what sort of a lover Jack would be and suspected he would be better than most of the men she had known. She was growing hotter, aware of the thrumming in her veins as her heartbeat sped up. Jack edged a little closer to her. She stood her ground, eyes following his movements.
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